


The Cold Light Of Day

by ariel2me



Series: Inspired by Fire & Blood [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 06:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: And yet it was to Archmaester Vaegon that the Old King turned now, summoning his last son to King’s Landing. What passed between them remains a matter of dispute. Some say the king offered Vaegon the throne and was refused. Others assert that he only sought his counsel. (Fire & Blood)What transpired between Archmaester Vaegon and Jaehaerys Targaryen.





	The Cold Light Of Day

The king stared at Vaegon’s unsmiling face with dismay. Perhaps he had been expecting warmth and tenderness from his last surviving son, the son to whom he had never shown much warmth and tenderness in the past. Or perhaps he had been hoping for sympathy, sympathy for his great predicament, a predicament that the gods, for reasons that completely escaped Jaehaerys, had seen fit to rain down on him.

He began, with hesitation, “If … if I … if I offer you the throne, would you accept it? The High Septon could be persuaded to release you from your vows as a chained and sworn maester. And the Citadel would be pleased to have one of their own sitting on the throne, I do not doubt.”

“If I have been released from my vows, then I would no longer be one of their own,” Vaegon pointed out, to his father’s consternation.  

His father was afraid, Vaegon saw clearly enough. Afraid enough to offer something he did not truly wish to offer, as a last resort, to prevent a greater calamity. Afraid enough, perhaps, to offer something he was even more terrified of being accepted, to his third son that he had always judged to be the _least_  of his sons. The least, and the least beloved, the least cherished and cared for among his sons.

“What is it that you truly fear, Father?” challenged Vaegon. “Do you fear that I will attempt to claim the throne for myself after your death, thus plunging the realm into a civil war? Have no fear, Your Grace. I have no wish to sit on your precious throne. You made it very clear where my rightful place was, the day you sent me  _‘to a place_   _where_   _Vaegon could do the least harm,’_  as you told my brothers at the time.”

The king paled. “That … that was not meant for your ear, my son.”

“But I heard it nonetheless.”  _And took it to heart nevertheless_ , Vaegon did not care to add. His father had never believed that he was in possession of a heart. This was true of his mother too, to a certain extent, Vaegon had always assumed, although her primary concern was in truth quite different. While Jaehaerys was skeptical that Vaegon could be in possession of feelings that could be hurt and wounded like the feelings of any other human being, Alysanne was worried that her third son was completely oblivious to the hurt and wounded feelings of others, even when _he_  was the cause of those hurt and wounded feelings.

The king tried to explain, “From a very early age, you have loved books and learning more than the rough and tumble of children’s play, more than anything else in the world, in fact. That did not change as you grew older. I sincerely believed at the time that the life of an archmaester of the Citadel would give you the most happiness. And it has done so, has it not?”

“It has, yes, but that is quite another matter, because you did not choose the Citadel for me because you were looking for what could make me the happiest.  _That_  was merely incidental, was it not, Father? Your true purpose was something else altogether.”

Grand Maester Elysar was very much aware of King Jaehaerys’ and Queen Alysanne’s thoughts regarding their third son, to the extent that the Grand Maester felt comfortable and secure enough to tell them that perhaps Prince Vaegon would “ _get so lost amongst the books in the Citadel’s library that you never need to concern yourselves with him again.”_  In Vaegon’s estimation, even the sharp-tongued Elysar would not have dared to be _that_  blunt and unsparing, had he believed that the sentiment he voiced would greatly displease the king and queen.   

“You never need to concern yourselves  _with_  him again,” the Grand Maester had said. He had not said, “You never need to concern yourselves  _about_  him again.” Vaegon was acutely aware of the difference.  

“If I have done you wrong, then I truly regret it,” the king said, too many years later, when it was too late to make a difference. “I never meant to –“

Vaegon interrupted, “Why have you summoned me to court, Father? What would you have of me now?”  

The king sighed, wearily. He said, “While the realm is still grieving over your brother Baelon’s death, Corlys Velaryon has been busy amassing ships and armed men at Driftmark to defend the rights of his son Laenor. Vowing not to be outdone by  _‘an upjumped_  Velaryon  _with ambitions beyond his station,_ ’ Baelon’s younger son Daemon is gathering sworn swords to defend the rights of his brother Viserys. A war of succession will certainly follow, whether I make Laenor my heir, or Viserys my heir.”

“And you think that offering  _me_  the throne could prevent that war?”

“Perhaps both sides would be able to accept my decision with peace, if my choice of heir does not come from  _either_  side.”

“It is  _far_  more likely that they would band together to kill me first, before resorting to killing each other for the throne. Is it your wish for my head to be the first mounted on a spike, Father?”

 “It … it will not come to that, surely,” the king said, his hands visibly shaking.

“It will come to war no matter who you choose to be your heir.”

“But I  _have_ to name an heir. Not naming my successor would only plunge the realm into a worse calamity after I am dead and gone.”

“You have to  _name_  your successor, that is true enough, Father, but you do not have to  _choose_  this successor yourself. Let the decision rest in the hands of the lords of the realm, great and small. Let no man say that  _the king_  has chosen poorly. Neither Lord Corlys nor Prince Daemon would find it so easy to make war against the combined wisdom of all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I should summon a Great Council, you mean? Is that your counsel, Vaegon?”

Vaegon nodded.

_You could keep your hands clean, Father. It would please you, no doubt. No one could accuse you of choosing the wrong successor, of being the one to plunge the realm into war. Are you grateful for my counsel? Or are you more relieved that I have refused your offer to make me king?_


End file.
